AN: Well, here is part 2 I promised over a year ago (I'm not gonna bother you with excuses except to say these 2 make me so nervous to write for and more often than not I feel like I am ruining their characterization completely so there is that..). But these two are such interesting characters (and we know so little about them even after all those games and movies that I always find it interesting to explore this world a little more. So hope I did okay.

-LA-

Part 2

A hand was reaching for him, bloody and decaying, rags wrapped around a skeletal hand and he backed away until his back hit something (a wall?) as he felt those cold fingers wrap around his wrist, felt it pulling him forward. His instinct kicked in before even a single thought could form in his head and he jerked his hand to free himself, stumbling and falling forward…but never hitting the ground. Instead he was met by a soft surface of his bed, supporting himself with his hands that were wrapped around slender female wrists. The body laying under him was far from dead (or undead) judging by the harsh breathing and the quick rise and fall of her chest that almost matched his.

It took a few blinks for his head to clear and his eyes to focus, but once they did, he let go of her hands as if they burned him, muttering a quick "I'm sorry," and giving her as much space as he could, his back hitting the bedpost. But then she reached for him, sitting up and pulling him to face her, hand placed on his lips in a silencing gesture.

There was no need for words.

Not when they were pretense, escape. Words could be molded, modified, but not this. The labored breaths, terrifies eyes and a sweat soaked shirt easily spelled out the harsh truth of what his life has become. He was a far cry from that boy that walked into the police station in Racoon City with dreams of helping people, protecting them, so sure of himself and what he needed to do. That boy wouldn't even recognize him.

Only one person could, the one that's been through this hell with him…

Slowly she moved a few strands of his wet hair from his face with those long, slander fingers, tracing the outline of his cheek and then his jaw before pulling him closer.

"Don't be," she whispered in the darkness of his apartment. "It's not your-"

He closed the small gap between them without letting her finish, unable to hear any more lies tonight. He didn't need her to comfort him, he needed to forget, focus his attention on something else. The smell of her skin, the feel of her lips against his, the taste of her as he invaded her mouth and the almost pleasant sting of his sculp when her hands grasped at his hair a little too harshly, pulling him to her.

It wasn't gradual or savory like four years ago. The time and all that they've been through has left a mark that wasn't only visible in words but their actions too. Every pull was a little less polished, every tug a bit harsher. Their skin has become thicker with years and maybe they needed to nudge a little harder to feel something. Anything. They pushed and pulled until there was a pile of clothes scattered on the floor by the bed and they were nothing but a tangle of limbs, desperate for breath. Skin to skin, with nothing left to take off, no obstacle between them yet he never felt further away.

It wasn't the revealing of the truth - it was hiding.

An escape instead of comfort. A denial.

They were both good with that. Diversion and detraction, combat 101.

So, when was the mission over, he wondered as she traced the scars over his chest? When there is a scar big enough it can't be healed? When there is a bullet fast enough that even they can't outrun?

Last night he was pondering putting that bullet in his scull himself and here he was now…wondering, worrying about her, about them. Because she was the weight that tipped the scale over to the good side, that tipped him back when he was close to falling, surrendering to darkness.

That was all there was to it. There was no fixing this, no fixing him.

That was the truth.

There would be nightmares again tomorrow, and undead things in the night and she wouldn't be there to catch him. That was another truth. One that took a little longer to accept but he was getting there.

All he could hope for was for her to be there when it gets too much, to find him before he jumps. And he'll return the favor. Always.

-LA-

"So, what's the mission?" he asks, hours later with the rumpled sheets as backdrop and she pauses briefly, before putting her sweater on. He's had his eyes closed for the last half hour, fooling noone that he was asleep. Still she kind of hoped he'd keep the pretense for a little longer for her sake, let her go quietly.

Now his eyes are focused on the ceiling, but he feels the bed move as she stands, all dressed up. "It would be foolish to believe you came here just for me…wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe I have..." she lets slip, with a smirk tugging at her lips, that goes completely unnoticed by him.

His mock laugh echoes in the space and it sends shivers down her spine and not in a good way. It's a brand-new territory – this situation, this Leon who doesn't hold on to her every word, who doesn't care.

"Well I'd be a fool to come all the way to Washington and not make it worthwhile…" she admitted. "So, you coming or are you too busy sulking away?"

"I'm not that far gone yet."

"Leon Kennedy missing a chance to be a hero…must be serious."

"I'd say stealing and selling highly dangerous substances is not exactly saving lives. Quite the opposite I believe." he quipped, sitting up to finally look at her.

"Haven't you heard? I've left that life behind since the whole Simmons debacle…" she said casually, enjoying the look of surprise on his face he couldn't hide. "This job in Washington is just a little fugitive recovery mission."

"You mean a bounty hunt?" he asked with a laugh. Her first reaction was to defend it, but she let him have it because this was the first real smile she saw since knocking on his apartment doors and she'd sooner get infected by T virus then admit it out loud, but she missed it.

"It's not as exciting or as lucrative as in the old West…but it pays the bills."

"I could use some cash." he admitted, grabbing jeans and a mostly clean shirt from the pile on the couch.

"Obviously as you've spent all that hard-earned government money on booze." she said.

In a minute he was dressed and ready to go, grabbing his keys and gun and placing it in the holster while she waited by the door patiently.

He went to unlock the door and she stopped him to fix his collar, as they stood in the small hallway.

"Can't let you walk around like a…"

"It's not okay." he said simply, interrupting her.

"What?" she paused, letting her hand slide down the hem of his jacket.

"This life…me." he admitted, finally, standing close enough that even those half-whispered words were like a shout in her ear.

She knew this. Claire knew it. It's the reason she called her. Because she got it but understood a hug and a bucket of ice cream wouldn't fix this. Fix him. He didn't need comfort - he needed a reason to go on.

It was kind of typical for Leon to realize things last.

She wasn't that great either, not that she'd admit that to anyone. But burning down that lab in China didn't actually speak of prime mental health. But it was a catharsis of sort. A rebirth. She's had so many personas and aliases in the past that some days it was hard to remember who she was. But standing here, next to him it was little easier. She wanted to be that woman he saw sometimes even if she was far from it yet.

But she believed they were both mature enough to admit one thing - they weren't meant to live in a house with a white picket fence with two kids and a dog, they were made for the chase, for the fight. On the opposite sides of the law most of the time but there were days, like today when their paths would cross and they'd get a glimmer of that greatness they could be together.

"I'm tired of this waiting around, let's go kill some bad guys." she said, planting a kiss on his lips and grabbing his hand to lead him out.

"Claire called you, didn't she?" he said as they left the apartment, vice colored with sentiment that made her frown. Was she jealous of the little Redfield?

"Yes, because we are such buds."

"Liar."

"Takes one to know one." she said with a wink and he didn't argue.

(the end)